


the way you make me feel

by vtforpedro



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Feels, Fluff, Getting Back Together, M/M, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 22:49:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19733254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vtforpedro/pseuds/vtforpedro
Summary: In which there are second chances at love.





	the way you make me feel

“I hear Thorin Durin is back in town.”

Bilbo pauses as he holds his cup of coffee against his mouth. He slowly sets it back down and ignores the tremble in his hand.

Thorin Durin. That’s a name no one has spoken around him in a very long time and for good reason. Most people in the small town of Hobbiton know Bilbo’s history, much to his chagrin, and he likes to think he’s put the fear of god in them nowadays.  
  
When it comes to mentioning that name anyway.

He lives half an hour outside of London, where he teaches literature at the university. It’s a very good job, with fantastic pay and benefits and holidays. Something he wouldn’t trade for the world, he knows. Or, at least, he used to know that. That had been the crux of it, hadn’t it?

They’d met in university and hit it off right away. They were as opposite as they could possibly be in some aspects and the very same in others and Bilbo supposes that’s what makes a relationship good and lasting. There had been immense love between them for six long years, filled with contentment and joy, with first flats and graduations and then a home, a ring, a cat. There had been plans of marriage, of small ceremonies, of a honeymoon… there had been everything Bilbo never thought he would have.

And they’d been so young, Bilbo knows, not even thirty when it had ended. And it had ended with a bang, certainly, and Bilbo’s still not sure whose fault that really is. He thinks, perhaps, Thorin might have started it, but he had ended it. There was no going back after the things they had said and, well, Bilbo doesn’t like to think about those days. About the love that still makes his chest ache and his fingers itch for his phone. The love that still cracks his heart in two when he thinks about it, the love that still chases him in his dreams, the love that has ensured he’ll never find that exact happiness with anyone again.

The love that was Thorin Durin embodied.

Bilbo closes his eyes.

“Shhhh,” one of the baristas hisses behind the counter.

He wants to tell her that _it’s too late, my dear, you’ve spoiled my banana nut muffin,_ but he doesn’t. He merely stands and tosses the muffin because there will be no getting it down later and leaves the coffee shop.

Stepping into the cool air of another beautiful autumn in Hobbiton, Bilbo looks up at the grey skies. They promise a rain shower by evening and he supposes that fits his day perfectly.

The trees are fading from emerald to bright oranges and yellows and reds and the rolling hills surrounding the village are greying. Halloween decorations are popping up in some shop windows and harvest celebrations are being planned. In a few days it’ll be his birthday.

His thirty-sixth birthday and that certainly makes his insides squirm. He doesn’t want to think about Thorin but he’s at the forefront of Bilbo’s twenties and it’s a wonder it’s been ten years since he’d last seen him.

Thorin had studied architecture, as his family owned a flourishing business in London, and had become the head of his company right after leaving university. Bilbo had secured a teaching position at the same university when he had graduated as well. It had been going so well, Bilbo knows that, but he can still feel the sting of Thorin’s words.

_They want me in Germany._

It had been too much. Bilbo didn’t want to move to Germany, he didn’t want to leave the home he and Thorin had built together, surrounded by their friends and family. He couldn’t leave his new career and go to Germany and teach literature. He couldn’t even speak German. The idea of it had been frightening, so much so that Bilbo gave Thorin an ultimatum.

Nowadays he isn’t surprised Thorin chose Germany over him. He might have as well.

So Thorin had left and Bilbo had… moved on. Eventually.

But now Thorin is back. Bilbo can’t fathom why, as his entire family and all of his employees had moved to Germany with him. His company is no longer in London and _he_ is no longer in Hobbiton, even if Bilbo still sees him at the corner bus stop before they had a proper car, or at the grocery store, sneaking those horrible little snack cakes into the trolley that he liked so much.

Bilbo clears his throat as he walks down the street, his hands stuffed in his pockets, and tries not to think about the past.

Unfortunately, it seems, the past will not be forgotten.

Because there is Thorin Durin himself, stepping out of a jewelry shop down the street. He’d recognize Thorin anywhere, even with a very short haircut, dressed in a long black peacoat and grey scarf.

Bilbo’s heart seizes and he looks frantically up and down the street. There’s the pub close by, owned by Bofur, and Bilbo hurries down the street and inside before he can be spotted.

“Whoa!” Bofur hollers as Bilbo nearly smacks into him in his haste to get to a booth in the corner.

“Sorry, Bofur,” Bilbo says as he jogs past him. He sits down, breathing a bit heavily, and looks down at his shaking hands.

It’s too much.

He was never supposed to see Thorin again. He’s never searched his name on the internet before, he doesn’t look at old photographs, all in the hopes that he’ll forget a fond smile and endlessly blue eyes.

Bofur slides into the booth across from him and Bilbo grimaces.

“I’m sorry.”

“I heard the news,” Bofur says as he watches him carefully.

“…ah.”

“I’m guessing you saw a certain someone outside.”

“Unfortunately,” Bilbo mutters and sighs. “But he didn’t see me, so I think I’ll have a beer and some fish and chips before I slink through the shadows to get back home.”

Bofur chuckles and taps the table. “Comin’ right up!”

He stands from the table as the door chimes before he gestures quickly with his hand at his side. “Might want to head to the back of the bar while no one’s lookin’.”

Bilbo gapes as he glances around Bofur and sees Thorin at the door. He hisses a little and dives out of the booth, walking low to the ground toward the bar, as Bofur jovially greets Thorin as an old friend.

He was always more of Bilbo’s friend than Thorin’s and Bilbo knows he won’t out him.

“Thorin Durin himself! Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

Bilbo crawls to the back of the bar and leans back against the small refrigerator under it, closing his eyes. He’s aware he’s being ridiculous and acting half his age but he feels as if his heart simply cannot handle being near Thorin Durin ever again. There’s a mark on it, he thinks, a mark left by Thorin, and one he can make worse. It’s best if they don’t see each other again.

“Hello,” says the deep voice that haunts Bilbo’s dreams. “How are you, Bofur?”

“Fantastic!” Bofur cheers. “What’s got you back in Hobbiton?”

“Business,” Thorin says briskly, even somewhat coldly.

“Would you like to sit and have a beer? It’s on me, for old times’ sake!”

There’s a long pause before Thorin sighs. “I’d like to talk to him.”

Bilbo’s heart skips a beat or two and constricts tightly in his chest.

“Him? Him who?”

“I saw him come in here, Bofur.”

Blast. Bilbo looks up at the ceiling and curses his luck.

“Afraid I don’t know what you mean, Thorin.”

“Of course you don’t,” Thorin says flatly. “Bilbo,” he says more loudly.

Bilbo flinches. Hearing his name from Thorin’s mouth once again is a bit of a blow he didn’t expect to hurt so very much. And, deciding he’s being very, very foolish, Bilbo stands up and straightens his coat out as he turns to face Thorin.

Thorin is still tall and handsome, but even more so now. He’s thirty-eight, Bilbo knows, and doesn’t look like a young man anymore. He’s got a full, thick beard and his short hair makes him look… distinguished. Thorin feels like a large presence in the small pub and Bilbo ignores the pain in his heart.

“Hello,” he sighs. He decides to steamroll past the fact that he was crouching behind the bar to hide from Thorin. “You look well.”

“As do you,” Thorin says carefully. He’s studying Bilbo’s face the way he always used to but the look on his own face is largely unreadable, the way it never was before. “Can we talk?”

“Erm,” Bilbo says as he glances sidelong at Bofur. Bofur merely shrugs and looks lost himself. “I have marking to do tonight and a lot of it. I don’t really have… time.”

Thorin graciously looks past the time Bilbo had to hide. “Can we meet tomorrow evening then?”

Bilbo’s stomach is churning violently and he feels ill. “What about, Thorin?” he asks with some desperation. He’s aware a few patrons sitting close by are watching and would rather not be this evening’s gossip.

Thorin looks as uncomfortable as Bilbo feels. “Best said in private.”

That’s enough to make Bilbo feel even more queasy. He swallows. “Alright,” he says slowly. “Where?”

“Bombur’s at six?”

Bilbo hates that Thorin says it, even if he knew he would. Their favorite restaurant, owned by Bofur’s brother Bombur, their old friend. They’d had countless dinners and memories there and Bilbo’s eyes sting as he remembers them.

It’s been ten years and it still seems like Thorin Durin has a powerful effect on him. Bilbo decides he hates Thorin a little for that too.

“Fine,” he says stiffly.

Thorin grimaces apologetically, as if he might have some understanding of the turmoil in Bilbo’s heart and mind, before he nods at Bilbo and Bofur. He turns and marches out the pub and disappears into the coming night.

Bilbo groans and slumps against the bar, covering his face with his hands.

Bofur comes to stand next to him and pats Bilbo’s shoulder. “Well, it could be worse!”

“How, pray tell?”

“He could have been wearing a wedding ring.”

Bilbo’s stomach roils viciously again and he looks at Bofur. “He was leaving the jewelry store down the street when I saw him.”

Bofur opens his mouth, then closes it as he holds his finger in the air. He sighs. “Well, lad… I’ll get you that beer.”

“Thank you, Bofur.”

——  
  
It’s a long, long night and day.

Bilbo had pleaded with Bofur the night before to tell Bombur not to draw too much attention to him and Thorin. That they weren’t there as old friends. That Bilbo wasn’t enjoying himself whatsoever being in Thorin’s presence again.

Sharing six years of your life with someone doesn’t particularly sound like a long time, but it’s enough to know someone better than you know yourself.

And Bilbo had known Thorin. He had known all of his intricacies, all of his nuances, all of his moods and desires. He knew Thorin’s past better than most and he had thought he had known Thorin’s future. He had thought he would be a part of it for the rest of his life.

It’s funny what life deals out, he supposes, funny and viscerally heartbreaking at the same time. It gives and takes in the same moment, something Bilbo in intimately familiar with, as much as he wishes he wasn’t.

Thorin had been there for his own heartbreak that was the loss of his mother shortly before they had met. Bilbo thinks they grew close so quickly because they understood each other's losses in a way most people didn’t in their early twenties. By the end of Bilbo’s first year, they had become inseparable.

Bilbo wonders how it can be that someone you know so well one day can be a stranger the next.

But that’s merely life, isn’t it?

It doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting, of course.

For now, Bilbo is staring at the clock as it slowly reaches a quarter until six. He’s been staring at it longer than he’d like to admit, much to his annoyance. He feels cold and clammy and his hands are shaking and it’s _entirely Thorin Durin’s fault._

He wonders if it would be better for everyone if he canceled.

Bilbo had finally found some semblance of peace. He might have decided to not share his life with anyone after a few failed dating attempts but the life of a confirmed bachelor isn’t all that bad. Bilbo has his cat Smeagol and his home and his garden and… and his career. What more could he possibly need?

Not any complications, certainly, nor any adventures that aren’t of his own making.

Not that Thorin will be any sort of an adventure. Merely a headache that Bilbo never can seem to get rid of.

He sighs as he looks down at Smeagol in his lap. “Well, old chap, I’m off to meet you know who.”

Smeagol looks at him with large, watery blue eyes and blinks slowly.

“Off you get.”

Smeagol hops off of his lap while growling his displeasure. His _gollum_ growl, Bilbo calls it, as that’s exactly what it sounds like, and which the veterinarian had laughed heartily at when Bilbo had taken him in out of concern.

But Smeagol is a hardy little creature and will likely outlive Bilbo at this rate. Of the two things he has from his relationship with Thorin, the house and the cat are doing very well.

Bilbo shakes out a few treats from a bag but Smeagol merely glares at him and stalks away. Bilbo understands the feeling.

He leaves the house and decides to walk to Bombur’s. The evening air is crisp and bites at his nose but it smells like spices and baking pies and wood fires, calming Bilbo’s heart. He looks at his neighbors’ homes and sees a few Halloween decorations placed in windows and in gardens. The town is small enough that it’s always a bit of a competition when it comes to decorating for the holidays and Bilbo knows by next weekend it’ll look like a party store exploded over the neighborhood.

Not that he minds. He normally decorates well enough to hold his own.

His heart twinges in pain when he sees three pumpkins on someone’s porch, waiting to be carved.

He was never good at carving them himself. That was always Thorin’s duty. There hasn’t been a single pumpkin in or around Bilbo’s home since he left.

Bilbo huffs a little at himself and straightens his spine as he turns the corner and hastens across the street. Bombur’s is just up ahead and already Bilbo can see a sleek black sedan parked in front of it. It looks vastly out of place for a little village such as Hobbiton and Bilbo wonders how much Thorin has forgotten. He’ll be labeled a _suspicious person_ before he leaves, whenever that will be.

Bombur’s is a small restaurant, with a red brick face and charming wooden doors and shuttered windows. Its sign swings in the breeze, painted white letters on mahogany wood, a large serving spoon painted delicately underneath it. The restaurant itself is both French and Italian themed and half the menu tends to change each month. Bilbo knows Bombur would change everything if the elderly residents of Hobbiton wouldn’t riot.

Bilbo takes in a long breath before he pushes the door open and steps inside the warm restaurant. It looks the same as it did when he had been in a week ago and yet it feels wildly different. He thinks it must be because Thorin is there, sitting at a table away from where they used to sit, and Bilbo is briefly thankful for that.

He approaches the table and sticks his trembling hands into his cardigan’s pockets.

Thorin looks up from his tea cup. Something strange passes over his face, something Bilbo can’t place, and isn’t that entirely new? Thorin stands and clears his throat.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” he says as he gestures at the seat across from him.

Bilbo sits down and leans back with a soft sigh, looking down at the menu opened in front of him, rather than look at Thorin any longer. “Of course,” he mutters.

Thorin is dressed in a plaid shirt and stylish jeans, his black peacoat hanging over the back of his chair. He’s always had clothing of mixed comfort and style and Bilbo remembers smiling at anyone who stared at Thorin a touch too long and thinking, _yes, that’s right, he_ is _that handsome._

Thorin clears his throat and Bilbo glances at him, but as Thorin opens his mouth, Rosie appears at the table. She smiles warmly at Bilbo, but it looks forced when she looks at Thorin, and her tone is rather cold when she takes his small order of a slice of blackberry pie.

Bilbo orders tea and Bombur’s famous apple strudel with cream.

“You really do look well,” Thorin says quietly with a grimace after Rosie has snatched his menu from him and walked briskly away.

“Thank you,” Bilbo says. “You as well.”

“How is everyone?”

“They’re well enough,” Bilbo says. “Everyone’s still living, at any rate.”

Thorin smiles a little and looks down at his tea. “Do you still teach at the university?”

“Of course,” Bilbo says with a shrug. “I do love it there.”

“I know,” Thorin says, no longer smiling. He scratches the back of his neck before he pauses. “Wait— everyone’s still living?”

“Yes,” Bilbo says, frowning, until it dawns on him just who Thorin is asking about. He can’t help but laugh. “Smeagol, surprisingly, is more healthy than ever.”

Thorin looks shocked. “He’s got to be living out of spite now,” he says and grins when Bilbo laughs again. “How old is he now? Twenty?”

“Close enough. He was nineteen this past April,” Bilbo says as he smiles. “He isn’t showing it but I suppose I should prepare myself for when he does.”

“He’ll outlive us both,” Thorin says mildly, his eyes soft, in a familiar way. “I still have scars on my ankles.”

Bilbo chuckles. “He was very fond of using your ankles to sharpen his claws,” he says. He thanks Rosie as she drops off his tea and subtly shakes his head as she gives him a questioning glance.

Rosie had still been in secondary when Thorin had left and she’s currently putting herself through medical school. She’s nearly done, now that Bilbo thinks of it, and doesn’t that make him feel old?

“She used to like me,” Thorin says dryly as Rosie leaves. “She laughed at my jokes.”

“Because it would be impolite to grimace in pain at them,” Bilbo says and smiles as Thorin huffs at him. “She’ll come around by the time we’re done.” He sighs as he takes a sip of his tea and sets his cup aside. “Unless I have to toss this at you for some reason.”

Thorin is quiet for a while and merely observes Bilbo. “I’m moving back,” he says carefully. “To London.”

Bilbo’s insides squirm rather nastily and his heart skips a few beats. He coughs a little. “Oh. Erm… moving the business back?”

“We’re going to have a London branch as well as a German one,” Thorin says. “Frerin is staying in Germany. He fell in love with the country when we arrived and hasn’t looked back since.”

“That seems very like him,” Bilbo says, his throat dry. “How… how are they? Dis and Frerin?”

“Good,” Thorin says. “Dis is married now.” He smiles. “She has two children.”

“How lovely,” Bilbo says and is surprised that he genuinely thinks so. Dis was always incredibly sweet to him and he’d been sorry to lose her as well. “How old are they?”

“Six and three. Fili and Kili,” Thorin says warmly. “She’s coming back to London with them as well.”

Bilbo nods and taps his fingers on the table. “Is that what you wanted me to know?”

Somehow, he knows it’s more than that.

Thorin shakes his head. “No, I…” he trails off as Rosie comes back with their desserts. She narrows her eyes at Thorin before she’s off again. Thorin clears his throat and looks at Bilbo with a wince. “I wanted to give you something.”

Bilbo’s heart is pounding now, uncomfortably so, and he feels faint. Whatever this is about, he has a feeling it isn’t anything good. He doesn’t think he can handle anything _not good_ right now.

“It’s nothing big,” Thorin says quickly and looks rather concerned. “Please don’t run.”

“I’m not running anywhere,” Bilbo says more forcefully than he intended.

“You’re white as a sheet,” Thorin mumbles and pushes Bilbo’s tea cup closer to him.

Bilbo thinks about ignoring it but he decides Thorin is right, in the end. He sips on his tea until his pulse isn’t painfully beating in his throat and nods shortly. “What… what is it, Thorin?”

Thorin frowns heavily. “I’m…” he trails off again and looks conflicted. “I wanted to see Hobbiton once more. I wanted to see where some of my most important moments in life took place. And I wanted to… clear up a loose end or two.” He swallows. “I wanted to see you again, if I could. I wanted to give you this because… it doesn’t belong to anyone else. I don’t mean anything by it. I just want you to have it.”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out something small. He holds his hand out to Bilbo and Bilbo knows what it is before he sets eyes on it.

It’s their engagement ring, sitting on Thorin’s palm, shining as beautifully as it always has. It’s titanium with a band of opal circling the middle of it. It sparkles in the low light of the restaurant and Bilbo remembers being gifted it in a similar manner, once upon a time, in a small cafe in Paris.

Thorin had designed it himself and Bilbo has, much to his own annoyance, wondered what became of it.

“It’s been at Gloin’s shop since the day I left Hobbiton,” Thorin says quietly and Bilbo notices a mild tremor in his hand.

Bilbo takes the ring and looks it over before he looks back at Thorin. “You were picking it up last night.”

Thorin nods and looks rather pale himself.

“Why are you giving me this, Thorin?”

“It’s like I said,” Thorin says very quietly. “It doesn’t belong to anyone else. I wanted to give it back to you a long time ago. I meant to…”

Bilbo’s eyes sting but he bites his tongue so it won’t go any further than that. “To what?”

“I meant to come back, you know,” Thorin says desperately as he looks at Bilbo. “I meant to give us some time apart and then I was going to come back and give you the ring again. I was going to ask you to come to Germany with me… in hopes that maybe you had thought about it more.”  
  
He’s feeling ill again. Bilbo looks around the restaurant before he looks at Thorin again. “Why didn’t you?” he asks hoarsely.

Thorin swallows roughly. “I kept thinking about everything that was said. I didn’t know if you could forgive me for it,” he says. “Or if I could forgive you. One day, I did. But by then, a long time had passed and each time I looked at the calendar, another six months had passed. Five years… ten years.” He shakes his head. “It’s gone by so quickly but I never stopped thinking about coming back for you.”

Bilbo sniffs and shrugs. “Well,” he says. “That’s just it, isn’t it? It’s been a long time. Yes, we both said things we regret now… we’ve grown. I’m sorry for everything I said and I’m sorry for asking you to choose me over your career. But it _has_ been a long time, Thorin.”

“I know,” Thorin says as he looks at the ring in Bilbo’s hand. “I really don’t mean anything by it. I’m not foolish enough to think it can go back to the way it was. I never even called you.”

That does sting quite a lot, doesn’t it? Bilbo clears his throat. “I never called you either.”

“Why didn’t we?”

“I blamed you for leaving me behind. For asking me to abandon my entire life to go to a country I knew little to nothing about and try to start fresh there. I blamed you for not thinking about my own career,” Bilbo says in a rush. “I blamed you for the lot of it.”

Thorin nods. “And I blamed you for the same thing,” he says a touch miserably. “I didn’t think your career was as… pressing as mine. That was wrong of me.” He sniffs as well. “I should have stayed,” he whispers, not meeting Bilbo’s eyes.

Bilbo inhales sharply and squeezes his eyes shut briefly. When he opens them again, Thorin is gazing at him and looks stricken. Bilbo shakes his head. “No, you shouldn’t have,” he says quietly. “You wouldn’t have gotten another opportunity like it. I was being selfish. I should have gone with you.”

“We should have talked about it more,” Thorin says. “If we had, maybe…” He frowns. “It ended so quickly when I told you they wanted me in Germany. I never imagined it would and it took me by surprise. I didn’t handle it well. I’m sorry for everything as well, Bilbo.”

Bilbo nods and sets the ring next to his tea cup. He wipes his sweaty hands off on his trousers and looks down at his apple strudel, untouched. “I suppose we’ve forgiven each other now,” he says. “It’ll make it easier to finally move on.”

Thorin is quiet for a long while after that and Bilbo finds that he can’t look at him. It feels as if someone is holding his heart in a vice grip and isn’t planning on letting go anytime soon. He misses Thorin with every fiber of his being and he’s a bit frightened at the feelings burning in his chest. Perhaps he never had moved on.

Perhaps he’s a fool for ever thinking he had.

“Bilbo,” Thorin murmurs. Once Bilbo has looked at him, Thorin reaches tentatively across the table and lays his hand over Bilbo’s. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for showing up with no warning. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since we got the plan in motion to come back here. It’s selfish of me, but I had to see you again.”

“I… understand,” Bilbo says slowly. “Though it is a little at my expense. It hurts rather a lot, you know, seeing you again.”

“I know,” Thorin says, and Bilbo knows he does know it. He feels the same looking at Bilbo. “I wish that I could go back in time.”

“You shouldn’t,” Bilbo says desperately. “Please, Thorin. It’s done. It has been for a long time.”

Thorin purses his lips and nods. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “Are you going to eat your strudel?”

Bilbo can’t help but laugh at the randomness of the question. “Not tonight,” he says honestly. “But I’ll take it home. Where are you staying?”

“At the inn,” Thorin says and flags Rosie down. “Until tomorrow. We’re staying with Balin in the city. I’ve got some flat hunting ahead of me.”

“Well,” Bilbo says breathlessly, “I wish you all the luck in the world, Thorin.”

Rosie hurries to their table with two boxes in hand already and hands one to each of them. She scowls outright at Thorin as he pays her for their desserts and Bilbo suspects she had been able to read into their exchange from behind the counter. Bilbo coughs a little, blushing.

“It’s alright,” he says to Rosie.

“It had best be,” she says and frowns apologetically at Bilbo. She sniffs at Thorin. “It’s good to see you, Mister Durin.”

“She means it,” Bilbo says after Rosie has walked away. “She wouldn’t say it otherwise.”

“I suppose I deserve her anger.”

“If anyone bothered to not listen to the rumor mill, they’d know it wasn’t completely on you,” Bilbo sighs. “Thank you for the dessert, Thorin… erm, I think I’ll be off.”

Thorin nods and stands as he puts his coat back on. Bilbo does the same and quickly pockets the ring, not knowing why he’s even going to keep it. It’ll just be another unpleasant reminder but it feels right in his pocket. As if he’s been missing the weight of it.

They walk out of the restaurant together and pause in the parking lot. “I’ll see you,” Thorin says quietly. “Thanks for coming and speaking with me.”

“Of course,” Bilbo mumbles, but he’s not entirely sure what Thorin might have gotten out of it. He isn’t sure what he himself had gotten out of it either. He supposes he’ll find out in the morning. “Good night.”

“Good night,” Thorin says softly, his eyes holding both fondness and heartbreak and it’s so very powerful on him that Bilbo can hardly stand to look at him.

He nods and turns and heads out of the parking lot. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and walks home in the cold night air, not feeling its sharpness on his nose or ears. It’s unseasonably cold for this time of the year, he thinks, and isn’t that just fitting? He’s surprised that, by the time he gets home, it hasn’t started a downpour.

——

Bilbo hardly sleeps for three nights in a row after his meeting with Thorin, much to both his and Smeagol’s annoyance. It’s a little disturbing to see two glowing eyes glaring at him in the darkness but he supposes he deserves it with all the tossing and turning.

He doesn’t want to, but he can’t help but run through their meeting over and over again. He wonders if he had said enough or too much. Each thought makes him anxious and his tea grows stronger by the day. It’s not until he’s in the grocery store buying five bottles of spiced mead to get in the mood to decorate that he realizes he has a problem.

He needs to find himself. He needs to move on, he needs to forget, and he needs to stop _running._

So he buys three pumpkins.

Bilbo takes them home and pours a large mug of spiced mead and sets a table up outside on the porch. He puts his pumpkin carving materials on top of today’s newspaper and picks the best pumpkin out of the lot, setting it in the middle of the table.

He had found a ghostly ship with tattered sails and thinks it might be a little ambitious for someone who is very poor at carving pumpkins, but damn it all, he’s going to do it. And he won’t think about Thorin bloody Durin as he does it.

He won’t think about the fact that Thorin had looked so heart wrenchingly sad throughout their meeting. He won’t think about the fact that Thorin’s eyes held a burning love in them that Bilbo felt in his soul. He won’t think about endlessly blue eyes or a fond smile. He won’t think about how he could smell Thorin’s cologne walking by his side and he won’t think about how warm he knows Thorin would have been, if only he had embraced him.

Bilbo won’t think about those things because he has a pumpkin to carve and when had it gotten so hard to see, anyway?

There are tears on his cheeks and Bilbo angrily wipes them away. He looks around the street and breathes in the autumn air. It’s grey and stormy out now and Bilbo thinks, _ah, there you are,_ when it starts to sprinkle, _better late than never._

Bilbo carves the top of the pumpkin and begins to hollow it out, glad he remembered that Thorin always used his bare hands to get a better grip on the insides. He’d nearly used his gardening gloves and that makes him smile a little, to think what Thorin might have had to say about that. But he isn’t thinking about Thorin.

He’s thinking about what sort of seasoning would go well with pumpkin seeds.

It’s pouring by the time he’s halfway through carving the ship. He’s messed up a few times, but he thinks it doesn’t look all that terrible, until his hand slips and takes a much needed, delicate piece of pumpkin with him.

“Bloody… shit!” Bilbo hisses as he leans back and glares at the pumpkin.

“Do you need help?”

Bilbo startles and looks wildly around to the end of his porch. He gapes.

Thorin is standing there, holding an umbrella, dressed warmly. He looks very hesitant, even a bit scared, and Bilbo swallows dryly at the thought.

“Oh, erm,” he says, “I suppose I do. I think I’ve just ruined it.”

Thorin steps onto the porch and shakes out his umbrella and sets it aside. He comes to stand behind Bilbo and observes the pumpkin.

“It’s salvageable,” he declares.

Bilbo chuckles and pulls around the second chair at the table. “Then have at it.”

Thorin sits next to him in his fancy peacoat and horribly used trainers and picks up the carving tools. He has an intent look of concentration about him already and Bilbo bites his lip so he won’t smile. He merely watches as Thorin begins to fix the pumpkin, as easily as he always had.

“Why are you here?” Bilbo asks softly after a while.  
  
He’s stopped running, he thinks. They both have.

“Don’t you know?” Thorin asks as he sets a piece of pumpkin aside. He looks at Bilbo, his eyes soft, a small smile curving on his lips.

Bilbo smiles in return. “I’d like to hear you say it.”

“I’m here because I wanted to see you again today,” Thorin says. “And I’d like to see you tomorrow. And the day after that. And… for the entire year after that… and maybe another ten more after that… and— mmf—”

Bilbo has grabbed Thorin by his cheeks and pulled him in for a kiss. Thorin melts against him as their lips move slowly together.

It's a hello.

Bilbo pulls away and sighs. “I’ve gotten pumpkin all over you,” he says as he looks at Thorin’s cheeks.

Thorin is grinning. “I suppose I’ll need to clean up after this.”

“Which means I’ll have to invite you inside,” Bilbo says mildly and smiles. “But your ankles may be in danger.”

“A risk I’m willing to take.”

“Good, then. Would you like some mead?”

“I’d love some,” Thorin says and leans in to press his forehead against Bilbo’s. “I love you.”

Bilbo brushes his nose over Thorin’s. “And I love you.”

And, this time, it does last through the days, months, and many years that follow.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments mean everything! I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> Thank you so much to [angelsallfire](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/angelsallfire) and [telltalelily](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/telltalelily)!
> 
> [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/vtforpedro)


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